


Forever

by goodomensblog (just_quintessentially_me), just_quintessentially_me



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Love, M/M, Romance, soft romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 20:01:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19325110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_quintessentially_me/pseuds/goodomensblog, https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_quintessentially_me/pseuds/just_quintessentially_me
Summary: Heaven’s execution chamber was elegant, magnificent - and bare. Polished floors gleamed, immaculate; their cleanliness made it impossible to guess at the atrocities committed upon them. Clean, white walls glared, and a window as large as the room was tall, teased of freedom just out of reach.At the center of it all, was a chair.And upon that chair, an angel sat.Across the cold, stark room - too far from the angel - a demon knelt, bound.The ropes burned, and Crowley hissed, hunching his shoulders as he turned his head up. The angel, his wrists tied to the chair, met and held his stare.No, it couldn’t - it wasn’t - this wasn’t right.Confused and in pain, Crowley called, “Angel, you alright?”Aziraphale’s light hair appeared white in the harshly lit room, and his face had gone pale; but at Crowley’s call he sat up in the chair, bound hands giving a feeble wave.





	Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Me, calling out like a vendor at a sports game: I’ve got your angst and fluff here! Aaangst and fluff, anyone? Get your angst and fluff!

Heaven’s execution chamber was elegant, magnificent - and bare. Polished floors gleamed, immaculate; their cleanliness made it impossible to guess at the atrocities committed upon them. Clean, white walls glared, and a window as large as the room was tall, teased of freedom just out of reach.

At the center of it all, was a chair.

And upon that chair, an angel sat.

Across the cold, stark room - _too far from the angel_  - a demon knelt, bound.

The ropes burned, and Crowley hissed, hunching his shoulders as he turned his head up. The angel, his wrists tied to the chair, met and held his stare.

_No, it couldn’t - it wasn’t - this wasn’t right._

Confused and in pain, Crowley called, “Angel, you alright?”

Aziraphale’s light hair appeared white in the harshly lit room, and his face had gone pale; but at Crowley’s call he sat up in the chair, bound hands giving a feeble wave.

“I’m okay, dear.”

His smile was pinched, forceful - the kind of smile meant to convey that everything is okay, when things are, in fact, very much not.

Crowley wiggled, attempting movement - but his knees wouldn’t budge from the floor. Gritting his teeth, he fought to stand - and the ropes constricted, biting and burning, even through his clothes.

Gasping, he folded forward. His forehead smacked cold marble with a  _crack_.

_“Crowley!”_

The ropes constricted, squeezing - then reluctantly loosened once more.

“Darling, try to be still. Please.”

Grunting, Crowley twisted, looking up. The marble was a cold caress against his cheek. “Wha-”

“It will be okay,” Aziraphale said, perched at the edge of the chair. He’d scooted as far as the restraints would allow. “ _Please_ , Crowley. It’s okay. Don’t fight.”

Crowley frowned, head abuzz from the crackling ropes. “Angel, what’re you-”

At the far end of the room, an impossibly large door opened, regal and slow. A gust of cold air followed the new arrivals into the room.

The angels walked as one. With straight backs and unhesitating steps, they observed the room, their chins tilted just slightly up. It made it appear as though they looked down upon everything they saw.

They saw Aziraphale first, paying him a short, swift glance down their noses before settling into a tight line. Only once they were in formation, did they deign to spare an even shorter glance to where Crowley knelt upon the floor.

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel said, his voice booming. “So good to have you back, buddy.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t say I share the sentiment,” was Aziraphale’s stiff answer.

“No, I guess you wouldn’t, would you?” Gabriel said, and he smiled with hard, white teeth.

Pale lips pressing together, Aziraphale turned his head.

“Though,” Gabriel continued, “You do get to have your friend here with you.” And then he was turning toward Crowley, smiling as he extended a hand. “At least, in the end-”

“Gabriel!” Aziraphale snapped, and the ropes binding his wrists twitched and groaned.

Four chins dipped down as the angels glanced sharply at the arms of the chair.

“Let’s just-” Aziraphale said, and gaze softening, looked past the angels - to where Crowley crouched. “-get on with it.”

“ _Aziraphale._ ” Heedless of the ropes, Crowley again tried to rise.

Something terrible was about to happen. His instincts screamed it.

Around overwhelming pain, he heard the large doors open. Squinting up from the floor, he watched the black, rotting boots of a demon stroll into the room, trailing a path of filth on the perfect floor.

He held something - a jar - and it was somehow, horribly familiar.

“ _Wait-_ ” he hissed, struggling.

White boots tapped over the floor. And then Michael was staring emotionlessly down at him.

The demon twisted the cap -

Yellow, crackling hellfire roared into existence.

A hard hand yanked Crowley up. Claw-like nails clutched the back of his neck, forcing him to look into the flames.

Michael bent, pinching his skin between her nails. At his ear, she whispered, voice saccharine and cold, “Hell’s certainly getting more creative with their punishments.”

_What?_

Unable to turn his head, he stared at her from the corner of his eyes.

“They arranged for us to keep you, just for a little while. Idiot demon,” she tutted, “letting Hell find out what you loved.”

The burning rope was nothing compared to the fear, cold and cruel as ice, which pierced him to his very core.

No.

Aziraphale had risen from the chair.

Crowley fought the ropes. Michael’s grip tightened.

Before the snapping flames, Aziraphale stood, his well-loved vest and coat catching the flickering light. Hands, which desired nothing more than to hold a favored book or a warm cup of tea, clenched resolutely at his sides.

“Aziraphale! _Angel!_ ” The hand at the back of his neck clenched, painfully tight.

Aziraphale looked past the flame, and his eyes finally,  _finally_  found Crowley’s.

His smile was a small, sad thing when he said, “After, they’ll let you go.”

 _No, no, no - “no, no, no - Angel! Stop!_ ” Crowley’s heart pounded, and it hurt. It  _hurt_. Twisting he turned desperate eyes on Michael - and then Gabriel and the other angels beyond. “I’ll do anything. Give you anything. What do you want? Tell me what you want, and it’s yours.”

“Oh, this is exactly what we want, demon,” Gabriel said. Eyes bright, he motioned for Aziraphale to move.

“No,  _wait_ \- please.  _Please!_ ” Crowley gasped, not entirely sure to whom he begged.

Through the flames, Aziraphale met and held his gaze.

“ _Don’t-_ ”

For an infinite moment, he was cradled in Aziraphale’s gaze, and he felt impossibly precious; cared for. And then Aziraphale stepped into the flames.

People who are upset scream. Crowley was not upset. He was in agony.

The scream tore it’s way from his lungs, up his throat, crawled out of his mouth and consumed him. His angel was destroyed and Crowley was nothing but noise and pain.

The room heaved and -

Crowley shot up, heaving and panting in the darkness. Sweat drenched hands clawed at bed sheets as he gasped. 

His yellow gaze jumped, anxious, about the room - his room. Looking from the end table, where his phone was glowing with messages (he ignored them), to a shivering plant in the corner, and finally to the open window and the quiet, sleeping city beyond.

Shoulders shaking, he shivered, throwing off the covers and -

Lightning flashed outside the window, blindingly bright. Thunder immediately followed, booming and shaking the foundations of the apartment. On the street below, a car alarm wailed.

Crowley twisted around as his bedroom door flung open.

Jacket wrinkled, as though it had been swiftly thrown on, Aziraphale strode into the room. Celestial energy was snapping and crackling around him - and were his eyes  _glowing?_

“ _Aziraphale?_ ” Crowley said, and took a single step toward him before jerking back.

The holy energy collecting around the angel  _burned._

“What’s happened Crowley?” Aziraphale said, bright eyes glancing about the room.

“What?”

Aziraphale’s gaze snapped sharply back to Crowley. “I was having a late night read when I suddenly felt -” he opened and closed his mouth. “I felt you. Or, at least, a flash of feeling. And it was desperation. Fear.  _Agony_.” He swallowed, “I was sure someone had come for you.”

He needn’t specify who.

The idea was a little too near to the events of his dream. 

Weeks ago, they’d successfully pulled off their body swapping stunt. Even so, the fear of Divine - or Hellish retribution lingered.

Crowley shook his head, a sharp jerk. “M’fine angel.”

“What happened?” Aziraphale insisted, taking a step nearer.

Wincing, Crowley hopped back.

The confusion and hurt that flashed across Aziraphale’s face had Crowley lifting his hands.

“Maybe, er - just turn it down a bit, angel? Not that going all glowy isn’t a good look for you. Really compliments your hair. But you’re probably one holy sneeze away from singeing off my hair.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, sucking in a breath. “ _Oh_ , I didn’t -” he glanced down at his hands frowning. “Didn’t realize…”

Immediately, the crackling ceased. Aziraphale glanced up and the glow had faded.

Crowley took a slow step forward, waving his hand experimentally between them.

“Better?”

“Uh. Yeah,” Crowley said, glancing up. “When’s the last time you went all…” he waved vaguely, “avenging angel?”

Aziraphale reddened. “I’m not one for…fighting. You know that.” Folding his hands over each other, he frowned. “I truly thought I had no choice, however. Crowley, what I felt -” His gaze was sharp and pained. “I was sure you were dying.”

“Felt like I was dying,” Crowley muttered, thinking of angry flames.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said, sharp.

“Nothing, angel,” he said, and turned to open the window.  _It was too damn warm-_

A gentle grip settled on his arm. “Talk to me, Crowley.”

He was shaking his head, but then Aziraphale added a soft, “please.”

Crowley folded.

“Nightmare,” he sighed.

“What?”

“I said, it was a nightmare,” Crowley repeated, lifting his head. Swallowing, he looked away. “They burned you, angel. Instead of me.” The words tasted like ash on his tongue. “I had to watch.”

“Oh.  _Oh Crowley_.”

He was unprepared for the speed at which Aziraphale struck him.

Arms wrapping solidly around him, Aziraphale squeezed, not letting go, even as they stumbled back onto the bed.

The feel of Aziraphale’s arms around him - the smell of him - the sounds of his breaths, quiet and even, all of it together finally broke him.

Clutching desperately at the angel, he shuddered, shivering in the darkness.

As he shook, Aziraphale gathered him up. Muttering soft words over his head, Aziraphale knelt, sinking into the mattress as they rocked together.

Crowley closed his eyes as gentle hands stroked his hair, then rubbed soothing circles over his back - then went back to his hair. He heaved a shuddering breath.

It was easier, Crowley found, to be honest when the world was dark and the city slept.

“I would die, Angel, to keep a fate like that from befalling you.”

Aziraphale abruptly stilled. The arms around him tightened.

“Don’t go saying silly things,” Aziraphale finally said, only after the silence had turned pressing. “Because I’d do the same for you. And where would that leave us?”

“Dead, I imagine,” Crowley answered and shuddered.

Aziraphale hushed him with a squeeze. “Don’t be morbid.”

Crowley pressed his face into Aziraphale’s vest. “Don’t think I’m ever gonna be able to sleep again. However bad you imagine that dream was, multiply it by ten.”

Aziraphale took a breath, hesitated, then said, “…maybe, I’ll stay with you then. Would that help?”

“Stay?” Crowley frowned, even as his heart skipped a beat at the thought. “You don’t sleep”

“Yes, but I  _can_. When I want to. And it might be interesting, giving regular sleeping a try.” Aziraphale ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “Then if you have another one, at least I’ll be here.”

Crowley turned his face up, and the brush of Aziraphale’s vest was soft against his cheek. Pale moonlight caught the angel’s light hair, and it seemed to glow softly atop his head. Aziraphale’s smile was gentle and warm.

Crowley reached up, brushing a knuckle along the side of Aziraphale’s face, and when he whispered, “ _Angel_ ,” he meant _I love you._

Aziraphale brushed a soft hand over Crowley’s forehead, and wiggled, settling more comfortably in the bed.

Crowley closed his eyes, and whispered into the dark. “You’ll really stay?”

“Until the last star has faded from the sky, my dear,” Aziraphale said, and of course meant  _forever_. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr!
> 
> [goodomensblog](https://goodomensblog.tumblr.com/)  
> or  
> [just-quintessentially-me](https://just-quintessentially-me.tumblr.com/) (main)


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